Fractured Negotiations
by Lala Kate
Summary: Two wounded souls, an unplanned meeting, an unexpected connection. Set in WWII.


_This has been written in fulfillment to a commission I received for the Downton Abbey Charity Drive, and it quickly became a labor of love. I do hope you enjoy it! Many thanks to the donor and dear friend who helped bring this story to life. :)_

_Own nothing._

* * *

His mouth.

It was what she had first noticed about him at the dance hall, the manner in which it had been sternly set capturing her attention, the concern it bore conveying all she needed to know. She had watched him move deliberately to a corner, keeping to himself, accepting a drink from another soldier with a slight twist of his cheek and a mumbled word of thanks. He remained alone, separating himself from the crowd around him, soothing hidden wounds too raw to nurse in solitude.

She knew this trick well. It rarely worked.

It had refused to smile when she approached his table, this mouth that was now grazing her cheek, strumming on cords stretching taut in hidden regions. This mouth now open and hungry. Seeking, exploring…

Feasting.

His lips had tweaked in a crooked smile when she had asked if she could join him, half sitting on his leg when he didn't make room for her quickly enough. They had flickered in surprise and appreciation when she helped herself to a drink of his whisky without his consent, softening towards her as he wordlessly invited her to be his guest.

Lips that were now burrowing into her ear, traipsing across her jaw, seeking her own again as bodies already intoxicated drank deeply from each other. Lips that tenderly spoke her name and grazed her temple moved to dance across her cheekbone in search of something she prayed they would find together.

Perhaps they sought too much.

Dark eyes gazed into her, the same that had shot her a look of amazement when she informed him that she knew how to repair the engine of an automobile. They had challenged her when she asserted that tea was vastly superior to coffee, flashed dangerously when she announced that baseball was boring when compared to cricket, and narrowed in doubt when she declared that it most assuredly did not rain nine out of ten days in England.

Eyes now darkened with each drugged kiss, with each new discovery, with each slow drag of lips along quivering flesh. They burrowed into nerves further than she would like, making her wonder if he saw more of her than she was comfortable offering.

Those eyes would be her undoing.

Fingers stroked her arm in an upward pattern, the same roughened texture she had noticed as they had tapped the table causing a delicious friction as they moved across her collar bone. She wondered what weapons they had held, how many lives they had struck down, these digits now painting lines of

passion across the neckline of her dress with artistry. They travelled up her neck, deftly weaving themselves into her hair, their ministrations on her scalp threatening to relieve her of all conscious thought.

Did they massage his own temples at night to relieve the ungodly stress of war? Did they ever fold together in prayer, seeking a sense of assurance and protection in a world gone to hell?

Would they relieve her of this ever-expanding ache just as they were relieving her of her dress, undoing buttons, arousing gooseflesh across the expanse of her back as they stroked skin freshly exposed? Would they touch her in a way she could not bring herself to voice?

Did they possess the power to ease wounds that burned deeper?

The palm she had pretended to read now directed her dress to the floor, joining with its companion in a silken duet atop her slip. She had told him he was destined for greatness, a self-depreciating shake of his head followed by a hesitant laying that palm atop hers. Greatness had never been in the cards for him, he had insisted, stroking her hand.

Brushing her heart.

That same palm cupping her bottom made her bite his lip, the fervent movement of hands along the plains of her body a response that set her on fire. Hands then made quick work of his uniform, casting what was unnecessary aside until heated skin met heated skin.

And palm pressed palm against the wall.

He had shrugged when she asked him if he had plans for after the war, leaning his head towards one shoulder as he told her it was best not to tempt fate. Weren't they tempting fate this very moment, she had asked him coyly, staring at him with heavy eyes that beckoned him closer? There was so much uncertain in this world, they both knew, the odds of living reduced with each moment that passed. Her shoulder hummed when he touched it, the question in his eyes sealed with an answer in her own.

Her shoulder melted now, covered by his mouth as the strap of her slip faltered. Her hands clasped his for steadiness, her back sliding up and down the wall as his teeth dared a nip. They were mouth to mouth again, undergarments all that barred full disclosure, bodies becoming desperate to know each other completely.

"Are you certain?" he had breathed as they made to leave the club, the concern in his eyes something she had not expected. She had faltered a moment, understanding that once another step had been taken they would be nearly impossible to retrace.

"Yes."

Her breath cried into his ear as his lips trailed the slopes of her breasts, staying along the lines of her slip even as they created a half-terrifying frenzy between her legs.

"Yes," her plea in his mouth as he traced her nipple delicately, and she welcomed his chest pressing her in closer, the contrast of the cool wall to his warm chest thrilling. Then her slip fell off her shoulders, her bra following in short order, the blatant exposure making her pause as she stared back at him.

"Mary," he whispered on her neck, tickling senses already out of hand as her lungs sought much needed air. Her name made this personal, and she clung to him, seeking his covering, craving shared life.

"Charles," she murmured, nearly crumbling at the voicing of his identity. It made him a part of her before their physical joining, a sliver of his soul now resting inside the fragments of a heart still beating.

Breaths mingled as freely as their limbs, and he drew back from her face, stroking her cheek as she closed her eyes.

She had touched his face just outside the door of the dance hall, the rough trace of stubble only encouraging her to extend their connection. She had deliberately dropped any misgivings when he leaned his cheek into her palm, the gesture such a mixture of trust and need that it pressed against the gray confines of her spirit.

"Who have you lost?" he asked in the car, letting her know he understood why she was with him.

"My cousin."

The statement carved deeply, nearly making her falter, pushing her to look out of the window rather than into his eyes.

"We received word last week. He was very dear to me, as close as any brother."

His hand sought her arm as he slowed the car.

"Would you like me to take you back?"

Her hand rested upon his leg, the fear of being alone outweighing any concern of what might lay ahead.

"Do you want me to stay?"

Her stomach tumbled inside her as she awaited his answer.

"Yes," he admitted, looking away before claiming her eyes yet again. "I need you."

Threads of weakness stitched across his expression made her answer inevitable.

"Yes."

Her cry spurred him on, fingers stroking her thighs as his mouth covered her breast. Nails dug into his scalp, and his moan bounced inside her chest. Unsteady hands trailed his hips, curving around him as his need pressed hard against her.

Legs nearly faltered when he kissed her as a man in love.

Strides nudged her towards the bed, and he knelt before her, stroking her legs in appreciation as stockings and garters were removed. She shivered all over, knees threatening to give way when the last of her secrets were unveiled. He kissed her hip with a reverence, treasuring what she offered as they tumbled into the sheets.

Then he was naked, as well, the stark beauty of his body bathed in dim light making her breath hitch in wonder. The contours of his chest fascinated her, her hands tracing incoherent patterns that left him breathless.

This chest had warmed her just outside the hotel as he held her against him gently, stroking her hair, staring at her as if she were an apparition that might fade at any moment. Her embrace had encircled his ribs, and she felt his heartbeat even through his uniform, an indicator of life that pulled her into him.

Too see it now uncovered, the etchings of war leaving its prints in a haphazard fashion, made her want him all the more.

Here she was, here with him, partaking of life in a manner probably unwise but grasped and clung to in stubborn desperation. All of him, each length of flesh, each breath, each touch, she accepted everything, her body more ready to receive him than she had the strength to fathom. His heart raced erratically as her hands found his buttocks, and his fingers then sought her, taking her by surprise as they feathered the most intimate of regions. She jumped, moaned, pressed into the contact, seeking a release he promised to grant.

Hands and touches led her continually forward, his tongue branding more deeply than he realized, his mark more profound than he knew. When she shuddered against him, he kissed her hard, prolonging her fulfillment as long as he was able, his whispered endearments guiding her back down to earth.

Then he was against her, at her entrance, her eyes and mouth flying open at the sheer magnitude of what was happening. He pushed in slowly, clasping her breast, breaking her apart in a fashion that made her cry out. She bit her lip as he emerged fully, squeezing her eyes shut at the overpowering sensation. He drew back quickly to stare into her, this connection keeping her afloat as he learned what she had left unspoken.

"Oh, Mary."

They remained frozen, sealed in a moment that now meant more than it had before, and his hand touched her ribs where her heart lay. She then drew his mouth back to hers, the dance of her lips across his own prompting him to move.

His strokes inside her were as gentle as the ones he brushed across her cheek, the tenderness of his kisses stitching a frayed seam of her heart. He held her hand as they rocked, nuzzling her neck as she relaxed into him, adjusting his position as he felt her stir. Another rise was beginning, one that pulled on every nerve, and she sought his lips in hunger, taking what she needed as she hurdled into him yet again. Her body seized, her mind broke apart, and she fell without fear as his arms bound her tightly. He then met her there, his own groans wafting into her hair as his life poured into her.

It was over. And she didn't know what to feel.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally questioned, his voice brushing her temple. "That this was your first time with a man?"

His inquiry hovered over limbs entwined, and she buried her face into his chest, garnering the courage necessary to face him.

"Would you have brought me here if I had?"

Fingers tilted her chin towards his face, the censure she feared startlingly absent.

"No. But you still should have said something."

She turned onto her side, resting in the crook of his arm.

"He wasn't my cousin," she admitted, watching his brow crease in confusion. "He was my fiancé."

It was then that the tears pushed through her resolve, and he pulled her closer, wiping one away as another fell into the pillow.

"He wanted to be with me before he left for the front," she voiced, thankful for his warmth as she fought the chill inside. "I told him no."

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs as she attempted to assuage her guilt.

"I never saw him again."

He pulled the cover over her arm, noticing her skin pimple in response to the night air.

"You loved him very much."

She could not meet his eyes as truth fell from her lips.

"No."

He turned her cheek back in his direction, forcing her to see him, nudging her to continue.

"I cared about him, very deeply," she admitted, sniffling back emotion still unspent. "We had known each other our entire lives, and everyone expected us to marry. I had gotten so used to the idea that I rarely questioned it myself."

He nodded his understanding.

"Being with me won't bring him back," he stated, leaning over her in a small stance of possession.

"I know," she replied, cupping his cheek, breathing him in. "But it brought me back to myself."

He then kissed her fully, no secrets, no barriers, his fingers still resting on her pulse.

"It did the same for me," he whispered, sensing something tangible shift between them.

She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"How long can we stay?" she asked, watching a smile break across his face that actually tugged on one of her own.

"It's ours until morning," he returned, draping his arm about her waist. She stared back at him, memorizing features, touching his lips. Stroking what had first drawn her before she claimed it with her own.

His mouth.


End file.
